


we are islands, we are oceans

by but_seriously



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1371259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_seriously/pseuds/but_seriously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s holding her heart. He’s turning it over and over and over again in his hands. He eats it. He swallows it whole. There is blood on his chin.</p><p>She’s never seen a lovelier sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we are islands, we are oceans

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by besbina on tumblr: "klaus/caroline--this is not a love story; it may not be the right time / I might not be the right one / but there's something about us I'd like to say / 'cause there's something between us anyway / (but there's something about us I've got to do, some kind of secret between me and you)"
> 
> original post [here](http://highgaarden.tumblr.com/post/80585815678/fic-we-are-islands-we-are-oceans).

Shame is a strange thing. Strange because she knows nothing of it. She had a dream, a boy was in it—

A  _boy_ -boy? Elena asks. Cheeks flush, eyes bright.

Yes, Caroline tuts. Her fingers tug at her pigtails. A  _boy-_ boy.

How it made a difference to them then Caroline doesn’t even know now, not with this faded polaroid she’s holding her hand of Elena lying on top of Caroline, Caroline on top of Bonnie—Bonnie with her tongue sticking out just barely seen from behind the mess of blankets and nail polish and pink (so much pink) the bed had become.

She had a dream, she’d told Elena, a boy was in it—

"And then what happened?" Bonnie interjects. Impatient. Her sparkly nailpolish is chipped. She’d told them she’d felt flames licking at the tips of her fingers; they tell her it’s just the burn of the nail polish remover.

Aunt Jenna had said it would happen. So cold it burns.

Elena shrugs.

And then what happened?

Well.

"I—" Caroline looks down at her hands. Her own nails are perfect. "I kissed him."

 

—

 

"You  _kissed_  him?” Elena hisses, only this time it’s not Elena, is it? It’s Elena’s face, and Elena’s hair, and Elena’s bright bubblegum lips parted into the most wondrous smile, one part shock and all the other parts that make up the world disbelief.

But it’s not Elena. Elena’s hips would never cock, her brow would never lift. Not that way, not that way.

A boy-boy, a wolf-boy, he held her against a tree, he swallowed her moans and he swallowed her whole.

"Did you like kissing him?" Elena asks. "Did you like kissing  _Klaus?”_

 _Elena._ That she could even  _ask_  her that, don’t you think—

"It’s just a question," Elena shoots. But it’s not Elena, she reminds herself. It’s not, it’s  _not_.

There’s something wrong with this picture.

She picks it out of the pile and burns it.

 

—

 

The moon whistles when it’s too quiet at night. It calls her. The blinds are shut but it peeks right through, it knows her name. The  _moon_  knows her name.

She slips her feet out of bed, passes Elena’s empty bed, because it’s not Elena’s bed, she reminds herself.

The sheets have already been removed.

The bed looks cold and uninviting in the ghostly light.

The moon, it whistles another tune. It doesn’t like to be ignored.

She slips her feet out of bed, slips out of the window, slips into the night.

What is it? she wants to shout. _What is it?_ What do you want?

The trees shiver around her. She expects a wolf to howl.

All she hears is her own dead heart. Pounding.

 

—

 

So it’s her and Bonnie, on the bed. Painting their nails.

Elena should be in this picture, she thinks. Pictures always lie, they add ten pounds, they hide her pointy elbows, the one she’s always so insecure about, but no matter how much she squints, Elena isn’t here.

I think, she says, I think I’m going mad.

Bonnie looks up. Her toenail is a bright orange.

A confidant, Bonnie is. An anchor. Bonnie’s  _the_  anchor, the anchor to the freakin’ Other Side, Bonnie held Elena’s hand and Elena disappeared  _right through her_ , how crazy is that.

And now here she is, painting her toes shocking, shocking orange.

I heard the moon call to me, she says, and she doesn’t know why her voice shakes.

Maybe Bonnie does.

But Bonnie just nods once. Bonnie looks wistful.

 

—

 

Elena’s dead, Damon’s gone, Bonnie paints her nails, the moon calls out her name.

The moon is your friend, Caroline.

Isn’t that what Bonnie had said?

Listen to it, listen to it.

She pushes her hair behind her ears.

The trees shiver, a wolf howls.

 

—

 

She wakes up with mud between her toes, leaves in her hair.

She’s in the woods.

Her back aches, her head’s sore. Her lips - parched.

Blood, she smells. Strong, permeating in the air. Blood, she wants it. She  _wants_  it.

The sun is up, but she’s shivering. She makes her way back to Whitmore. Bonnie asks her where she’s been.

She says—

I’ve been chasing wolves.

 

—

 

And Stefan would hold her against a wall then, shake her, yell right into her ear.

No, Stefan, she doesn’t  _want_  a death wish.

The moon, for fuck’s sake, the moon speaks to her,  _yes,_  she knows this sounds  _batshit insane—_

"The moon doesn’t talk, Caroline," he says. He sounds weary. His forehead rests against her shoulder. He’s not holding her up anymore, it’s the other way around.

It has always been the other way around.

He says, I can’t lose you, not you, not you too.

She holds him up. He looks like a boy, lost and afraid. He’s let his hair grow out, maybe he wants to try and look older. Wiser.

Does it work?

No, not really.

 

—

 

Elena’s dead, Damon’s gone, but gone, gone, what does that even mean? Isn’t it just the same? Isn’t it all just the same? Dead, gone. Close your eyes, say good bye - we won’t be seeing you, not for a long, long time.

Stefan carries it in his shoulders. He looks like he’s made of stone, but he bends like putty in her arms, his tears lick sparkly nail polish flames against her shoulder.

Damon’s gone.

Good bye, won’t be seein’ ya, pal.

 

—

 

It’s like that story, you know the one.

The one about Orpheus, who loved his Eurydice dearly dearly dearly.

Orpheus misses his wife, Orpheus wades through the underworld to get her back. Eurydice, she tells Orpheus not to look back.

If you look back, she warns, you are doomed.

 

—

 

So if Klaus is gone, Klaus should be dead, right?

Klaus  _should_  be dead. He should have been dead a long time ago. It should be his grave that she’s resting flowers against. But no, she decides.

She wouldn’t even bring him flowers. No, nuh-uh, not her.

Bonnie’s nails are silver today. Silver like the moon. They visit Elena at night. She kinda likes it that way.

"Does the moon still speak to you?" Bonnie asks. They’re talking like Elena can hear them. Like Elena’s right here, in this polaroid picture. "Does the moon still tell you stories?"

She tilts her head, yes.

The moon tells her of a boy, a  _boy-_ boy. A wolf-boy. The moon tells her of a girl. A dead girl, with pink cheeks.

She wants to find him, she chases him.

But he’s gone.

 

—

 

She can’t find him.

 

—

 

She doesn’t want to find him. They kissed, that’s all.

She’d let herself have him. That’s all.

"Are you sure it’s not the other way around?" Stefan asks.

But Stefan, Stefan’s not supposed to be here.

Stefan looks like a boy, lost and wild. Dark circles under his eyes, his hair in a tangle. He’s let it grow too long. He looks older. He looks like he might bend, or break.

Or both, she tells him.

Stefan laughs, then. It sounds harsh and unforgiving.

"Let’s find you your wolf, Caroline." He smiles like one.

 

—

 

They scour the woods. They reach two different dirt paths.

One is made up on black branches and prickly thorns, like it would fester in your skin, infect you with disease.

The other is lush and blooming wildflowers, like it would trickle if you bit into it, its juices dripping down your chin.

And it would taste like blood, Stefan says. So much blood.

 

—

 

She walks. She chooses death, and she walks death’s path.

I’m dead, Stefan. I’ve always been the dead girl with the pink cheeks and the shiny pom poms and the glitter in her hair. The dead girl cheering you on in your games, the dead girl holding you up when you cry—

Stefan wants to go with her.

I’m every bit as dead as you, he argues. I’ve been dead longer.

But she wants this. It’s an awful, awful shame, but shame - it’s not anything she knows, is it. She wants this, you need to give it to me, Stefan.

She leaves him in the wildflowers.

When she walks, death snatches her shadows right from her footsteps.

 

—

 

This place, it knows the inner workings of her heart.

It knows her pain, knows her heartbreak.  

The moon, it has been telling them her secrets.

Klaus is gone, is she - is she looking for him?

She’s looking for a boy (a boy-boy, a wolf-boy), and Klaus, he couldn’t possibly be one of the above, could he? Cross out Klaus, circle wolf-boy.

He’s just an answer in an exam sheet.

She can do this.

She can find him.

 

—

 

But  _why_ —

I just do, Bonnie. I just do, he took a part of me in that woods that day, and I want it back.

What did he take? Bonnie asks. Her nails are red today. Fiery, angry. 

"Don’t be angry, Bonnie." Her smile twists like a knife in her heart. She’s bleeding, but there is no blood, because she has no heart in her left.

 

—

 

She wants it back.

 

—

 

Maybe he’ll be here, at the end of this path. Two roads diverged in a wood, and she took the one less traveled by. 

She’d begged to take the one less traveled by. She wonders what Frost would say of this.

She does a skip and a jump and a cartwheel, everywhere she goes death follows, death is her companion, death is her. It’s taken her so long to realize. The moon, it doesn’t call to her.

It’s calling her  _back_  to it.

She wonders if that’s where Elena is. If that’s where everyone goes.

They whisper and they whistle and they call so loud, it’s like they’re cheering her on. 

 

—

 

She feels naked and cold, like she’s skinny dipping in the ocean. The waves beat across her back, the current pulls her under. She can’t breathe, but she doesn’t need to.

She’s deep in the woods now. She hasn’t looked back; she knows the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. She knows her stories well enough not to.

Come on, Forbes.

Chin up, back straight. 

And don’t you dare look back.

 

—

 

She walks for hours, days, nights.

The moon, it does not whistle. Not anymore.

No wolves howl. They are careful now, they know she is coming for them.

But there are footsteps behind her.

She knows, she remembers. 

She keeps her chin up, her back straight.

But she wants to look back, oh, she wants to,  _she wants to._

 

—

 

It’s like that story, you know the one.

The one about Orpheus, who loved his Eurydice dearly dearly dearly.

Orpheus misses his wife, Orpheus wades through the underworld to get her back. Eurydice, she tells Orpheus not to look back.

If you look back, she does not say, we are both doomed.

 

—

 

At last—daylight.

She’s never seen a lovelier sight. 

Are we out, are we out?

She closes her eyes, shivers right down to her bones. She cannot walk back to Whitmore, she does not know where she is. But she’s not in the woods anymore, she has clawed out of its dark belly and come out the other end on her knees.

Stefan, where is Stefan, has he found the wolf in the wildflowers with the ants crawling in its sticky nectar?

She hears a movement behind her. 

Eurydice—

 

—

 

But it’s not her. It’s not, it’s  _not._

It’s a boy, a  _boy-_ boy, her wolf-boy.

It’s the name the moon whispers but she’s been too brittle to take.

It’s Klaus.

He’s holding her heart. He’s turning it over and over and over again in his hands. He eats it. He swallows it whole. There is blood on his chin.

She’s never seen a lovelier sight.

She walks up to him, traces a thumb across his lips, brings it to her tongue. Just a taste, just  _one_.

She tastes sweet on his lips.

She tells him so, and he laughs. It sounds like a dream, but this isn’t one. It couldn’t be. She has mud on her knees and leaves in her hair. Klaus smells of the earth, gritty and cold, but her heart has warmed his hands, his mouth.

She wants it back, she tells him.

And Klaus, he raises his eyebrows. “What took you so long, then?”

She says—

I’ve been chasing wolves.


End file.
